


the sascha zverev guide to giraffe seduction

by impulsemomentum



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M, as in, dom!nico is just along for the ride, jealous marcelo, sascha and pierre try their best to make marcelo jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 05:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsemomentum/pseuds/impulsemomentum
Summary: As the title suggests: how Sascha Zverev gets himself a giraffe, with the help of a couple friends.





	the sascha zverev guide to giraffe seduction

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: all parties mentioned have their own personal lives that i respect and am not trying to disprove at all. these are my ideas and my own words. they are not real. 
> 
> maybe not my best work, but i REALLY wanted to write more bdsmverse for tennis rpf, and honestly saschelo has been so Gay lately i couldn’t not :’) enjoy!

****

 

**_Q. Great match today. Was there more pressure to produce results, now that your number one ranking is on the line?_ **

_Marcelo: Thank you. There is of course a little bit more pressure, but I think more focus on the matches and the ranking will come._

_**Q. One more question. You are friends with Sascha Zverev, yes?** _

_Marcelo: Hmm? Of course. We have been good friends, yes._

_**Q. And you are aware of the rumours surrounding you two, especially considering his orientation?** _

_Marcelo: Sorry?_

_**Q. Could you respond to the people wondering if you are in a relationship with him?** _

_Marcelo: What? [laughs] He is so young, no? Just because he is a sub is not meaning dating. We are friends, is all._

 

———

 

“Stop laughing at me.”

 

Nico raises an eyebrow, and politely returns to his newspaper. “I’m not laughing at you.”

 

The lean figure on the bed grunts, and shifts to glare at the other person in the room, who is in fact smothering giggles behind his coffee cup. “I’m talking to you, _Pierre_. This is serious. I’m seriously upset.”

 

“Alright, sorry, sorry.” Pierre does not look particularly sorry. “I just don’t see why it’s such a serious issue. Just go talk to him, Sascha.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Sascha squawks, indignant. “Did you even read the interview? He said I was too young. Like I was his little brother or something.”

 

Something resembling a muffled chuckle sounds from behind the newspaper, which Sascha ignores to continue in his rant. “I just don’t understand why he won’t even consider me as a sub for him. I’m a great sub! I can prove it!

 

Pierre snorts. “Right, I’m sure you’re an amazing sub, so grea-”

 

“Pierre.” Nico warns mildly, folding away his newspaper.

 

Pierre lowers his head, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks. “Sorry, Sascha.”

 

“Look, Sascha.” Nico sighs. “Maybe he’s just not attracted to you, or maybe he really thinks you’re too young to be his sub. Anyway, you should probably talk to him before just assuming things.”

 

Sascha pouts, properly chastised. “I just want him to see me as more than a friend or whatever. I don’t want to have a big old talk with him though; that’s way too embarrassing.”

 

“Hey, hold on a second, I have an idea.” Pierre suddenly brightens, a grin splitting his face. Both Nico and Sascha regards him for a moment, suspicious.

 

“What is it?” Nico speaks first, raising an eyebrow.

 

Pierre only grins wider. “Sascha, you’re going to need to borrow my dom.”

 

———

 

As much as Pierre has his faults, Sascha admits, waiting impatiently outside of Marcelo’s room, he is damn good at planning.

 

“Saschaaa,” Marcelo opens the door, then grins in welcome. “You gonna lose at FIFA again? I just order dinner but I can do again for you?”

 

Sascha breezes past him into his room, stepping over some stray shirts as he tosses his flirtiest grin over his shoulder. “Nah, just need to borrow something.”

 

“Borrow?” Marcelo frowns, closing the door behind him. “What you need?”

 

“Do you have any of that,” Sascha waves his hand cursorily, “hair stuff? Like what you put on your hair?”

 

Marcelo raises an eyebrow. “Hair wax? Sascha, I not know you do your hair.”

 

“Well, no, I usually don’t,” Sascha sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, concealing a grin by lowering his head. “but I figured I should probably do it tonight, you know? Nico’s invited me to grab some food.”

 

“Nico...” The frown returns. “Nicolas Mahut?”

 

“Yep.” Sascha grins at him innocently. “So do you think you can help me with the hair thing?”

 

“Well I...” Marcelo looks dubious. “I not sure your hair can do this, Sascha. Too much curl, no? Not like me.”

 

Sascha pouts. “Are you sure? I wanna look the best I can, you know? He’s gone out of his way to invite me and everything.”

 

He’s pretty sure he hears some teeth grinding.

 

Yep, Sascha thinks, grinning to himself as he exits Marcelo’s room, feeling the older man’s gaze burning into his back, Pierre makes some damn good plans.

 

———

 

“So?” Sascha’s barely got into the room before Pierre is springing up from his chair, grinning. “How’d it go?”

 

Sascha grins back, shaking Marcelo’s jar of hair wax at him. “He gave me this but he looked like he’d rather play 100 tiebreaks instead.”

 

Pierre whoops, fistpumping the air before turning to Nico, who offered him an exasperated smile.

 

“For the record,” Nico offers, placing takeout dishes around the coffee table of the suite. “I still think the better solution is to just talk to him.”

 

“But you’re going along with it, right, mon cher?” Pierre wraps himself around Nico, grinning into his shoulder.

 

“Yes, Pierrot.” Nico rolls his eyes, but obligingly gives Pierre a kiss when he asks.

 

Sascha can’t fault them for being in love, but he feels something unhappily twist in his chest. Maybe it’s loneliness, or jealousy. Either way, he firmly pushes those thoughts away before taking a seat in the chair Pierre had recently occupied, looking up at the couple with a raised eyebrow. “So, what now?”

 

“Now,” Pierre rubs his hands together gleefully. “We let him assume.”

 

———

 

SASCHA: practice today?

GIRAFA: !!! court 18?

SASCHA: omw :D

 

“Sasch-” Marcelo’s grin abruptly disappears as he takes in Sascha’s appearance.

 

“Hey.” Sascha yawns, dropping his bags on the bench. He’s well aware of what he looks like right now, an image carefully doctored by Pierre. His hair is disheveled, and he’s sure there are circles under his eyes from staying up the night before. Of course, he had only stayed up to play video games, but he’s sure that Marcelo is currently having very different ideas. “Take it easy on me today, yeah? Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

 

“Okay.” Marcelo sounds like he’s chewing on glass. “Sounds good.”

 

“You okay?” Sascha asks faux-innocently, barely concealing a satisfied smirk. “Rough night?”

 

He swears he sees Marcelo’s nostrils flare. “Something like that. Hitting?”

 

Sascha’s throws up his hands, not even bothering to hide his expression this time. “Alright, alright. Let’s hit.”

 

———

 

Hijacking the interview had honestly not been part of the plan, but as Sascha strolls over to the French pair, feeling Marcelo’s eyes tracking his every move, he sees Nico and Pierre exchange a look, and knows that this would be the grand finale.

 

It is very effective; by the time Nico pats Sascha on the chest the fifth time, even Pierre is starting to look a little green. However, all three can tell that just this isn’t going to be enough for Marcelo to truly react.

 

So, Nico _pushes_. He does it in the way only an experienced dom can, where the sub senses nothing, but to everyone else present, it feels like a full push. The interviewer, a quiet beta, is shocked into silence for a moment, and Sascha turns his head to see the exact moment Marcelo just breaks. He quickly extracts himself from the interview, patting both Nico and Pierre on the shoulder for their help, and rushes towards Marcelo, whose face is indescribable.

 

“Can we talk?” Sascha is genuinely terrified for a second, because Marcelo, 34-year-old child, has just produced a sentence entirely devoid of emotion.

 

“Yeah.” Sascha gulps, following his instincts and lowering his head in an appeasement gesture. “Let’s talk.”

 

——— 

 

As they get back to Marcelo’s hotel room, Marcelo strides to the center, his back to Sascha, completely silent.

 

“Marcelo?” Sascha says hesitantly, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Are you dating Mahut?” He says, still completely monotone.

 

Sascha feels a ball of nervous anticipation in his chest, and he knows that this is the make-or-break moment. “No. I think we both know who I want.”

 

“Good.” Marcelo finally turns, then in three quick steps, he has an iron grip on Sascha’s jaw, his eyes dark and furiously intense. “You are sure? About this?”

 

“Marcelo,” Sascha gasps, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to leave and kneel for the first dom I find-”

 

He barely gets the sentence out before Marcelo crowds him against the door with a feral growl. Marcelo pins his arms above his head iron-tight, and Sascha is so hard that he physically hurts with the need to kneel, to submit.

 

“Next to bed, kneel, clothes off.” Marcelo’s subconsciously pushing, Sascha can tell, and he opens for the delicious warmth that spreads across his body, sending him skidding across the top of subspace as he loses awareness of everything except Marcelo and his voice. By the time he returns, he’s already kneeling by the bedpost, naked, and Marcelo is stroking his face gently.

 

“Beautiful.” Marcelo murmurs. “You have a safeword?”

 

Sascha feels a blush spread across his face at the compliment, and has to force his throat to produce sound. “Just red is fine.”

 

Marcelo’s mouth quirks up. “Okay.” He doesn’t wait for Sascha to respond, instead burying his hand into the younger man’s curls, pulling at them to force Sascha to meet his gaze. “You do what I say, then?”

 

Sascha doesn’t even need the slight push behind the words for his eyes to flutter shut, feeling tingles exploding across his chest. “Yes, Sir.” He murmurs, half floating.

 

“Caralho, Sascha.” Marcelo almost growls, and he tightens his grip on Sascha’s hair, tangling his fingers and making Sascha gasp as tendrils of pain tingle across his scalp. “On the bed.”

 

Marcelo worships Sascha like he’s an angel. He kisses every inch of the younger man’s skin, leaving marks in places that makes Sascha squirm. He leaves a bruising trail of kisses down Sascha’s stomach, and finally, finally, closes his mouth over the tip of Sascha’s leaking cock, tongue lapping at the precome.

 

“Marcelo, sir, sir, please,” Sascha whines, barely capable of coherent speech. “fuck me, _please_ , oh my _God_.”

 

Sascha’s cock slides out of Marcelo’s mouth with a filthy pop. “Nossa, Sascha, when you say these things,” He murmurs, trailing fingers along Sascha’s side. “so good for me, huh? For no one else. Just me.”

 

“Yes, yes, fuck, just you,” Sascha pants, desperately thrusting up, “Nico’s been with Pierre for years, they planned this whole thing just so you’d finally see, _please_ , Marcelo!”

 

Marcelo growls again, and kisses Sascha hard, crushing his mouth as a dripping finger finally, finally enters his hole, immediately finding his prostate and hitting it with punishing speed. Sascha gasps, feeling tears gather at the corner of his eyes at the almost unbearable pace.

 

“Marcelo, please, please fuck me, please,” seems to be all Sascha is capable of saying, but it’s enough for Marcelo, who adds another finger and scissors him at the same, brutal pace, growling “ _mine_ ” into his shoulder. He’s deliberately pushing now, and Sascha loses all concept of anything but the fingers in his arse and the husky voice in his ear.

 

“I want your cock, fuck, I want your cock in me, please,” Sascha chokes, “I can’t, I need your cock, God, _please_ , Marcelo.” He almost cries when he feels Marcelo’s fingers withdraw, leaving him empty, but it’s soon replaced by a blunt head, and he groans long and deep as Marcelo’s slicked cock finally slides into him, a smooth glide as Marcelo bottoms out with a grunt.

 

“So good, Sascha, merda, so good for me.” Marcelo rambles, setting a steady pace. He angles his thrusts just right, and Sascha shudders as his prostate is driven into over and over. He can’t even form a coherent thought, let alone words, and resorts to broken cries and moans as his hands move feverishly over Marcelo’s back, leaving stinging scratches in their wake.

 

“Sascha, I gonna,” Marcelo grunts, moving faster. “I gonna come in you, yeah?”

 

Sascha can only nod, his head thrown back in pleasure as he feels his own orgasm growing. He reaches a hand down to his cock, only to be slapped away by Marcelo, who begins pumping it at the same pace which he is driving into Sascha’s arse. It’s too much for Sascha, who comes with a shrill cry as white spots appear in his vision. He’s all the way into subspace now, and he’s barely aware of Marcelo burying his face into his shoulder, crying out Sascha’s name as he comes, spilling warmth inside of Sascha.

 

Sascha comes back down to Marcelo gently cleaning up around him, wiping sweat and spunk off his body and sliding the sheets over both of them. “That was,” Sascha has to clear his throat because his voice is hoarse from screaming. “damn.”

 

“I did good?” He can feel Marcelo’s grin against the crook of his neck.

 

“Better than Nico.” Sascha replies cheekily, only to be rewarded with a pinch on his arse.

 

“No joke like this.” Marcelo admonishes mildly. “I might have to spank you.”

 

Sascha groans, throwing his head back. “Not right now, Jesus, I’m young but I can’t get it up _that_ fast.”

 

Marcelo hums noncommittally. “Okay. We sleep right now, and when we wake, we gonna talk about your punishment.”

 

“ _Jesus Christ._ ”

 

———

 

SASCHA: you both deserve the biggest fruit basket ever, damn

SASCHA: tropical or no?

NICO: hahahaha glad things worked out 

PIERRE: ill take some pineapple ;) think its good for men

SASCHA: ill make a note

**Author's Note:**

> i c r a v e a t t e n t i o n


End file.
